


Some Call it Reckless, Some Call it Breathing

by tiedyepieinthesky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: But Bobby's story was exactly the same, But He Gets Better, Child Dean, Happy Ending, If Mary never died and John never became a hunter, Jody Mills/Bobby Singer - Freeform, John's A+ Parenting, M/M, Monster!Cas AU, Protective Bobby Singer, Some Fluff, Some angst, Then Teenaged Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-07 20:37:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8815483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedyepieinthesky/pseuds/tiedyepieinthesky
Summary: For as long as Dean can remember, there has been a monster living under his bed.  It used to scare him, with the scratching and hissing, but when he finally stands up to it, he learns it's just as scared as he is, but for very different reasons.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was based on a [tumblr prompt](http://franticallyyodeling.tumblr.com/post/154323629903/soulmate-au-in-which-the-monster-under-a-kids-bed) and will be published in three parts (hopefully) in pretty quick succession over the next few weeks. 
> 
> The title comes from the song "Accidental Light" by Sleeping At Last.

“Goodnight Dean,” Mary said, turning off the light and shutting the door.

“Mommy! Wait!”

Mary turned around to see her frightened four year old kneeling on the edge of his bed peering down.

“Did you make him go away?”

Mary smiled tiredly.  

“Daddy took care of that yesterday, sweetie.  He’s gone now.”

Dean wasn’t convinced, and Mary sighed, realizing Dean wouldn’t be consoled with soothing words.

“How ‘bout I check?”

Dean nodded, eyes wide as Mary lifted the blanket spilling over the edge of the bed and looked underneath.

“Nope.  Nothing down there but dust bunnies.”

“He’s hiding, Mommy.  He knows you’re looking, so he’s hiding.”

“I’ll go get the monster repellent, and then even if he hides, he’ll have to go away.  Sound good?”

Mary ruffled Dean’s hair before grabbing a spray bottle from the bathroom and filling it with water.  Smeared words scrawled hastily in Sharpie along the side read, “Monster Repellent: For Under-the-Bed Monsters.”

Mary returned, nightgown swishing around her ankles, and showed the spray bottle to Dean who now sat crouched in the corner of his bed with the blanket wrapped around him like a cloak.

“Alright, say goodbye to the monster!”

With a few sprays and a tight hug, Mary announced that the was room monster-free and tucked Dean in, promising a sweet dreams and bacon with breakfast.

She left the door cracked and the night light on before going across the hall to check on young Sammy, but it did very little to reassure Dean, who heard the scratching and hissing all night.

The following morning, when Dean told John and Mary about it, they were sure it was just a nightmare, a common occurrence for children Dean’s age, and they told him as much, but the next night and the night after that, the whispers and snarls felt very real.

 

After a few years, the scratch marks on the walls that nobody else could see and the incomprehensible words that nobody else could hear became normal.  By age eleven, Dean assumed everyone had a monster living under the bed.  He even tried to talk to Sammy about it, but all he got were puzzled looks and eventually a few tears when Dean tried to describe what he thought the monster would look like.  Mary put Dean in a timeout for scaring his brother and just shook her head when Dean tried to explain what he had been doing.

“Monsters aren’t real, Dean.  You know that.”

But that was just it.  He didn’t.  In fact, he was quite certain that they were, and he didn’t understand why Mary was trying to hide it from him.

One summer week in sixth grade, John and Mary sent Dean to go visit a family friend in South Dakota.  Mary was skeptical at first, but John was adamant.

“Seeing Bobby will do him some good.  Hunting, fishing.  Nothing but the two of them in the great outdoors.  Besides, Dean loves working on cars and Bobby’s got a ton of junkers out there Dean can mess around with.  He’ll be fine, Mary.  He needs this.”

With that, John drove Dean up I-29, then left him there with promises to come back on Friday and an old canvas bag filled with clothes.  

Bobby stood on the porch with Dean and waved as John drove away before leading him upstairs to the room where he’d stay for the rest of the week.

“Just leave your things right here.  I’m thinking we’ll go fishing tomorrow morning bright and early, then hunting the day after if you’re up for it.  John says you haven’t been able to go a lot back home.”

Dean nodded, not quite meeting Bobby’s eyes.  

“I don’t know if you’re into this sort of thing,” Bobby ventured.  “But I’ve always had a weak spot for peach cobbler, and I was thinking if you’d like we could make one tonight.  It’s too late to do much else, with the light going and everything…”

He trailed off, as Dean began to look puzzled.

“What’s a cobbler?”

“It’s like a square pie.”

Dean’s eyes widened, and Bobby grinned.  He reminded himself to thank Mary for the tip when he called later.

 

On Thursday, having exhausted all other possibilities of things to do in Sioux Falls, Bobby trudged back from his neighbor’s house with a borrowed pie tin under his arm.  Dean was already in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled back to his elbows and the flour tin under one arm sprinkling flour all over the counter.

When the screen door clambered shut, Dean glanced over his shoulder and said, “Oh, hi Uncle Bobby.”

Bobby smiled.  “Got the pie tin and lucky for us, Sheriff Mills has an apple tree and was nice enough to give us some of her best ones.”

“Awesome,” Dean replied, eyeing the big red apples excitedly.  “Those are perfect.”

“I’ll just put ‘em right here.  I double checked to make sure there weren’t any worms or nothin’, but you’ll probably want to give ‘em a once-over when you’re washing them.  My eyes ain’t as good as they used to be.”

“Will do, Uncle Bobby.”

Bobby settled at the kitchen table with a paper in his hands, ready to help if need be, but Dean never gave him a chance.  He’d made it so many times, he didn’t even need a recipe, only stopping when he couldn’t find a tool in the foreign kitchen.

“You’re gonna fatten me up, boy,” Bobby complained when Dean pulled the finished pie out of the oven.  “First the cobbler, now that pie.”

“You don’t have to have any,” Dean replied, with a challenging glare.  “More for me.”

Bobby put his hands up in surrender.  “You got me.”

Dean grinned and dug the knife into the pie.  “That’s what I thought.”

As the two of them sat, blowing on the pieces they were too eager to let cool fully, Dean began to pale.

“What’s the matter?” Bobby asked, setting his fork down and leaning forward.  “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just...I’m not ready to go home.”

Bobby softened. “Well, I’m glad you’re having a good time, but your mom and dad are starting to miss you I’m sure.”

“I miss them too, it’s just that…” Dean started, as he picked at the steaming pie.

“What is it, then?”

“You won’t believe me.”

Bobby reached over and squeezed Dean’s shoulder.  “Boy, I’ve seen more things in my time than you’ll ever be able to imagine.  Try me.”

Dean took a deep breath and let the words spill out.  “It’s just, there’s this monster, and nobody believes it’s there.  Mom told me monsters aren’t real, and I want to believe her, but I hear him, and I see marks on the walls.  I know he’s there.”

For a moment, Bobby was silent.  Dean looked up at him with hope and uncertainty shimmering in his eyes.

“I know a thing or two about monsters,” Bobby said slowly, looking past Dean to the old picture of Karen on the mantel.  “And I know a thing or two about fear, and I know what it’s like when you’re feeling things that other people don’t understand, but I’ve found it’s best to face those kinds of things head on.  Do you know what I mean?”

Dean nodded.  “I think so.”

 

Friday night, John came up, and Saturday morning they left together.  They got home right around four, and Mary rushed over from the porch when they pulled into the driveway.

“I missed you so much,” she told him as she pulled Dean into a hug.  “Did you have fun with Uncle Bobby?”

“So much fun,” he said, offering her a tupperware filled with leftovers when she pulled back.  “We made pie and cobbler.”

“Bobby told me.  He was very impressed,” Mary said, smiling as Dean’s face lit up.  “And guess what we’re having for dinner tonight.”

“Bacon cheeseburgers?”

“Bacon cheeseburgers.”

Dean was so excited that he could almost forget about what Bobby said.  

After dinner and dessert, Mary sent the two boys upstairs to get ready for bed.

“Please, Mom?” Dean begged.  “Can’t we go to bed a little later?  It’s summer.”

“Honey, you’re exhausted,” she said, rubbing a thumb gently over the circles under his eyes.  “Maybe tomorrow.”

Dean squeezed his lips together to stop his thoughts from escaping.   _But tomorrow will be too late_.

He took an exorbitant amount of time brushing his teeth that night, so long that John finally came in and told him to get to bed.

“Sooner to bed, sooner to rise,” John informed him as he led him to his bedroom.  Even then, Dean could hear the excited hissing and growling coming from the unnaturally dark crease between the bed and the floor.

“Do you hear that, Dad?”

“All I hear are the crickets and the sound of a boy who was supposed to be in bed half an hour ago,” John said with a smile.  “You’ve had a long day, Dean.  There’s nothing in here but the two of us.”

Dean nodded, but as John turned to go back to his room, the monster only got louder.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

The door shut, and Dean could’ve sworn the snarls sounded like laughter.

He cleared his throat and croaked, “I’m not scared of you.”

Silence.

After a few moments there was the faint scratching of claws against the wall and Dean repeated it, louder this time.

Once more, the monster quieted, and Dean let himself settle against the mattress and shut his eyes.  For the first time in seven years, Dean got a full night’s sleep.

 

The next night, Dean sat tall when Mary shut the door.

“I’m not scared of you,” Dean told the monster.  “Not anymore.”

For a long moment, the monster was silent, but that didn’t matter to Dean.  He’d gotten started and nothing was going to stop him now.

“Why are you always trying to scare me anyway?”

Dean heard a whisper in a pitch so high, the windows rattled, “I’m not.”

“Then why are you always scratching at the walls and making those scary sounds?”

“I am trying to escape.”

“You’re stuck?”

Dean glanced over the edge.  He may not have been scared to sleep, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to face this thing head-on.

“Yes.”

“Can I help you get out?”

Dean relaxed when the monster replied, “Nobody can.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, settling against the wall.  “That sucks.”

“Yes,” the monster replied.  “It does ‘suck,’ as you say.”

“How long have you been stuck?”

“Longer than you can imagine.”

“Are you hungry.”

“No.  I don’t need sustenance in the same way you do.”

“Why are you stuck?”

“A witch cursed me.”

“Oh,” Dean said, frightened once again.  “Is she coming for you?”

“No.”

Dean let out a sigh of relief.  “Well that’s good at least.”

“Perhaps.”

“Yeah, I guess she’s probably the only one who can let you out, huh?”

“How observant of you.”

“Witches are scary,” Dean said, imagining the Wicked Witch from _The Wizard of Oz_.  “I never liked witches.”

“I feel precisely the same way, if not more so.”

“What’s your name?”

“Castiel.”

Dean snorted.  “What kind of name is that?”

“The name of a monster.”

“I think I’ll just call you Cas,” Dean decided.  “I’m Dean.”

“It’s a pleasure, Dean.”

Dean yawned and laid back, pulling the blanket up to his ears, still a little worried the witch might come back.

“Well, goodnight, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”  


 

By the time Dean turned sixteen, talking to Castiel had become part of his nightly ritual.  Although it took quite a bit of prompting, Dean managed to earn snippets of information about Castiel, from his history to the fact that he’d been cursed to haunt this room for disobeying his father.  Dean had been furious when he’d learned that.

“So your family set that witch on you?” he practically hissed.  “Family’s supposed to look out for you!  To keep you safe! That’s bullshit.”

Castiel had agreed, but it had done little to temper Dean’s anger.  

Over the years, their conversations broadened.  Cas would ask Dean questions about his life, his family, his dreams.

“I think he’ll probably marry that Sheriff one day,” Dean confided as he told Castiel about Bobby.  “Every time I go up there he finds some excuse to go see her.  I swear one of these days, I’m gonna visit him and he’ll have a ring on his finger.”

Eventually, Cas asked him what he wanted to do.

“I guess I’ll probably just be a mechanic.  My dad does that.  I’ll probably just work at his shop until he retires.  Then, I’ll take it over.”

“Is that what you want to do?” Cas inquired.

“I don’t know,” Dean replied.  “It’s just the only thing I know how to do.”

Sometimes, Dean told Castiel about the girls he met.  

“There’s this one girl, Lisa,” Dean said with a low whistle.  “She’s a spitfire, Cas.  I swear she’ll be the death of me.”

Castiel became quiet when Dean spoke about Lisa, so Dean stopped.  He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but if it bothered Castiel, then he wouldn’t do it.

Mostly, Dean just told him about his dreams.

“I’m going to pack a duffel with five tee shirts and a pair of jeans; I’m going to get in that car; I’m going to drive away, and I’m never coming back.”

“Where would you go?”

“Anywhere but here, buddy.  Anywhere but here.”

Castiel would support Dean the best he could, after all, he had heard the fights Dean and his father would have, but it always hurt to think that Dean’s best world is one away from there.  Away from him.

“What about you, Cas?  What’s your dream?”

“To be free.”

Dean blushed, embarrassed at having forgotten.  “Oh, right.  I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not.  Do you know which witch did this to you?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.  I’ll hunt that bitch down and get her to set you free.”

It was on old promise.  One that Castiel would never let Dean keep.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Fuck danger,” Dean declared.  “I’ll steal my dad’s shotgun, tie her up, and refuse to let her go until she lets you out.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean whined.  “Let me help you.”

At that point in the conversation, Castiel always grew silent, and Dean always fell asleep.  It was a nice thought, but Castiel knew better than to tie his hopes up in human beings.

  


The screams echoed up the stairway, dying on Castiel’s ear before they ended abruptly and were replaced by the pounding of footsteps.

“Fuck you!  I’m leaving.”

“Good luck without a car!” John yelled back.

Mary hit him on the arm before racing after Dean.

“Honey,” she said, tears streaming down her face.

“Mom,” Dean pleaded.  “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“Don’t do this.  We can work this out.  We can make it better.  We can—”

“Mom,” Dean interrupted.  “You can’t.  I need to get out of here, and there’s nothing you can do that will stop me.”

Mary’s voice caught in her throat as she stared at her son.  His green eyes were starting to glisten as well, but his expression was defiant, and he already had that old canvas bag in his hand.

“You’re right,” she said.  “I can’t stop you.  If you want to go, you’re going to find a way, but just think about what you’re giving up.  If you walk out that door now…”

“What?  Are you going to let him lock it behind me?”

“No,” she whispered.  “But I don’t know that you can repair this kind of damage.”

Without another word, she turned and left him there to try and swallow the lump in his throat.  Dean collapsed to the floor with his face in his hands.

“Cas?” he said softly.  “Are you there?”

After a long moment, Dean heard the familiar ring, “Yes.”

“What do I do?”

“What do you want?”

Dean’s head spun, and his throat felt raw as he cried.  “Not to be so fucking alone.”

“Lisa?”

Dean let out a cold laugh.  “We broke up months ago.”

Castiel’s heart ached as he considered the sobbing boy just inches from him.  He wanted more than anything to reach out and comfort his friend, but there was a reason he kept his claws under the bed.  He hadn’t been entirely truthful when he’d said he was stuck.  He could leave the bed, not the room, but he couldn’t stand to face the horror on Dean’s face when he saw Castiel’s terrible form.  Witches have a cruel sense of humor.

“Cas?” Dean choked out.  “Are you there?”

“Yes.  Always.”

Dean dropped the bag and crawled onto the bed, dangling his arm over the side.

Castiel reached for the light for the first time in decades, but at the last moment, retreated into the darkness.

He knew better than to trust human beings with the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

On his annual trip to visit Bobby, Dean pulled a pie out of the oven.  He didn’t bake much at home, having found it wasn’t a popular pastime amongst other high school boys, but in Sioux Falls, he was free to bake all the pie his heart could desire.

“Excited for your senior year?” Bobby asked, reclining at the kitchen table and peering out the window.

“About as excited as I was about junior year,” Dean replied as he slid the pie into the oven.

“So not that much.”

“Exactly,” Dean replied, shutting the oven and leaning against the cabinet with his arms crossed over his chest.  “Besides, I’m more curious about how things are with you and the Sheriff.”

Bobby blushed and averted his eyes, earning a grin from Dean.

“I don’t know why you would ask something like that.”

“Oh c’mon, Bobby.  Obviously you have a thing for her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  Me and Jody—”

“So it’s _Jody_ now, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Dean laughed, and Bobby rubbed his burning cheeks.

“How ‘bout you, boy?  Any women on your mind?”

Now it was Dean’s turn to blush.

“Not exactly.”

Bobby raised one eyebrow.

“What does that mean?”

Dean opted to change the subject.  “Bobby, what do you know about witches?”

Bobby let out a thunderous laugh.  “Dean, I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, but let me tell you, no matter what they offer, it’s not worth it.”

“Not like that!” Dean practically shrieked.  “I think one of them cursed our house a long time ago, and I was wondering if you know anything about them so I could reverse it.”

“Oh,” Bobby said, the smile falling off his face quick as a slap.  “Have you told your old man?”

Dean just chuckled.

“Yeah, I figured as much.”  Bobby ran a grisled hand over his rough face.  “What makes you think a witch cursed your house?  Did something happen?”

Dean bit his lip, wondering how much of the truth he could tell without giving Castiel away.  The last thing he wanted to do was lie to Bobby, but he also had no way of knowing that Bobby would be open to the idea of setting a monster free.

“Remember the monster I thought was under my bed when I was a kid?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said slowly, eyes narrowed.  “Did it ever do anything to you?”

“No!” Dean blurted.  He clenched and unclenched his fist, urging himself to stay calm.  “No, he didn’t.  In fact, I don’t think he’s a monster at all?”

“He?”

“Yes, he.”

“Did it talk to you?”

Dean’s gaze fell the floor.

“Dean,” Bobby said solemnly, standing for the first time since they’d entered the kitchen.  “This is serious.  If there’s really something in your room…”

“Yeah, he talked to me.”

“Did it tell you its name?”

“Why do you need to know his name?”

“Names have power, Dean.  If we know its name, we can learn about its history.  Most things are tied to places and objects because of something that happened in past lives.  Unfinished business.  Once we know what it is and why it’s there, we can get rid of it.”

Dean looked up and met Bobby’s stare head-on.  “No, and I don’t think _he’s_ a monster.”

Bobby sighed, settling once more at the table.  “So you said.”

“Besides, I want to know about witches.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe the witch was protecting herself?”

“No,” Dean snapped, his expression cold.  “It didn’t.  If you won’t help me, then I’ll just have to do it myself.”

“Dean, wait—”

But he was already out of the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

 

Dean’s ragged tee was soaked through with sweat by the time he reached the little Sioux Falls library.  He considered asking Sheriff Mills for a ride into town, but figured she’d be more likely to call Bobby than to help him, so he walked instead.  He’d never been to the library, only seen it in passing, so he’d made a few wrongs turns along the way, and by the time he got there, it’d been over an hour since he’d left Bobby’s.  The anger that had fueled him for the first mile had dissipated by the second, leaving him hot, thirsty, and lonely.  Staying with Bobby was supposed to be the one week a year when he didn’t have to worry about anything, and now he was almost four hundred miles away from Castiel, and the only human he could trust was threatening his only real friendship.  If he wasn’t so dehydrated, he probably wouldn’t be able to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

The great brick building loomed over him, challenging him to learn the truth.  As much as the prospect of sitting by as Castiel rotted under his bed scared him, finding out what he really was no longer felt comforting.  With a deep breath, he climbed the steps, the hot concrete burning his feet through the soles of his boots, and was hit with a burst of cold air as the clear doors slid open.

“Hello!” the woman at the desk greeted Dean with a practiced smile.  “What can I do for you?”

“Do I need a card to do research?”

“Nope, you only need one to take any books home.”

“Alright, and, uh, how do I look for subjects?”

She directed him to an antique computer resting on a table on the end of a bookshelf, then left him to his devices in favor of finishing a crossword puzzle from the local paper.  The sight stung Dean a bit—that same paper was sitting on Bobby’s table—but, he was on a mission, so he swallowed the ache that had begun to form and typed “witch” into the search bar.

With some scrolling, some filters, and a whole lot of luck, Dean found three books on witches’ lore, a word he’d heard Bobby throw around, but not one that had had any meaning for him until then.  He scribbled the codes onto one of the scraps of paper and went after the librarian.

“Excuse me?  Can you please help me find these sections?”

“Just follow the numbers on the shelves.  The first one corresponds to a genre.  The three-hundreds are social sciences, and, if memory serves, the three-nineties are customs, etiquette, and folklore.  From there, it’s alphabetical by the author’s last name.  Head over to that shelf on the right, and if you have any troubles, just holler.”

Dean thanked her, then went off to find the shelf.  He walked almost comically slowly, scanning each one meticulously before moving on to the next.  When he found the social sciences section, he traced his finger of the spines, looking for the three codes, and sliding them out quickly.  As he walked back to the table in front of the window, he could hear his heart racing.

He read as quickly as he could without missing anything, giving himself a papercut in his effort to turn the pages quickly.  A few passages jumped out to him, however.

_Witches, while represented in popular culture as supernatural beings, are generally considered by scholars to be regular people who dabble in magic.  It does not require any abnormality or superhuman ability to become a witch, just an interest and dedication to the study and practice of charms._

So he wouldn’t need Bobby to hunt this thing down.  He probably wouldn’t even have to hurt her; if he bribed her, they could all go home happy.

_It is worth noting, that certain powerful witches have been said to manipulate the forces of nature to alter reality.  Some have supposedly used this gift to make themselves inhuman, but there are very few documented cases of this.  There have, however, been stories throughout history of witches using their understanding of natural forces to harm others.  Usually, victims were found dead seemingly of nothing, though it is more likely the witch just used a particular kind of poison unknown to the people at the time, making it seem like a “curse”._

Dean scoffed and shut the book.  If this one was just going to ramble on about herbal remedies, then it wasn’t worth his time.  He grabbed the other one from the chair and flipped it open to the first page, tracing his thumb over the words as he read.

_Witches, or some form of them, exist in nearly every culture.  While their forms and intentions vary drastically, they almost always are humans, at least in appearance, who have mastered magic.  Many people have reported cases of “witchcraft” over the years, but the description of the spells used and the witches themselves are anything but uniform._

He turned the pages, skimming through the introduction until he reached the chapter labeled, “Curses, Hexes, and Other Malicious Spells.”

_Most infamously of all witch tales are those involving the curses witches are said to put upon those who scorn them.  The types of spell and the severity depend entirely on the witch’s ability and intent, though both the benevolence and the malevolence supposedly intensify with the witch’s feeling when (s)he casts the spell (a recently scorned witch would cast a much more powerful curse than a mildly irritated one, and a delighted witch would heal someone faster and more painlessly than an indifferent one).  Ergo, it is best to avoid angering a witch, as it will only worsen the hex (s)he can fling._

Now that is good advice.  Pulling out the well worn journal John gave him for his fourteenth birthday, Dean began to jot as he read.

 _While fighting a witch can seem daunting, most can only do magic in the forms of potions and hex-bags, both of which require premeditation.  Despite what_ Harry Potter _would lead you to believe, there are no known instances of witches using mere words without any magical substances to cast spells, even with a wand._

Dean wrote in all-caps at the top of the page, “ELEMENT OF SURPRISE”.

One he’d finished reading and returned all three of the books on witches, he glared at the computers haunting him from across the room.  While Sioux Falls didn’t have any books on Castiel, the Internet certainly would know a thing or two, but that would require him to sit down and actively look for information, the very thing he’d been dreading all afternoon.  With a deep breath and a silent reminder that he was doing it to save his friend, he forced himself to sit down and type the most important secret Castiel ever told him into the searchbar: his name.

There weren’t many sites about him, and the few that were there had brief descriptions to say the least.  One just said, “The angel of Thursday”.  Dean’s eyes widened as he read on.  The sources didn’t have much in common, but they unanimously agree that “Castiel” was the name of an angel, who was in charge of Thursdays and had at one point been favored by the higher-ups in Heaven.  Who specifically was impressed by Castiel, however, varied as much as the information about him did.  Some said he was a favorite of God rivaled only by Lucifer, another said he was the right-hand-man of Gabriel, yet another claimed Michael named Castiel worthy. The more Dean learned, the less made sense.  How could an angel in league with beings as powerful as God, Gabriel, and Michael be trapped under a bed by some human who fiddled with a little dark magic?  It just didn’t add up.

He shut the tab and rubbed his temples, wishing just for once he could have more answers than questions.

 

Dean didn’t knock when he got back to Bobby’s house.  It was easier getting back than it was leaving, but he was still exhausted when he reached the porch and went straight upstairs to collapse on his bed.

“Dean?” Bobby called, his voice muffled by the sound of heavy footsteps on rickety wooden stairs.  “That you, boy?”

“In here,” Dean yelled back, too tired to be difficult any longer.

Bobby rapped lightly on the door, but it swung open before Dean could tell him to come in.  “Get home okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“Find anything useful?”

“Mhmm.”

“Find any two syllable words at the library?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“‘Matter,’ good choice.”

Dean hauled himself up to look Bobby in the eye.  “Look, Bobby, I’m sorry for earlier.  I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Bobby gave Dean a tired smile and leaned against the doorframe.  “Don’t be.  I shouldn’t have tried to get you to give up that um...your friend’s name.  He’s obviously important to you, and it was wrong of me to dismiss him without hearing your side.”

Dean perked up a bit at that, hope returning once more that Bobby would be able to help him with the witch hunt.

“Thanks, Bobby.  That means a lot.”

“That being said,” Bobby continued.  “Your friend might be a victim of circumstance, but there are creatures out there you can’t even imagine.  Creatures who do terrible things and can talk you into anything.  So, I will help you with this,  but you gotta promise to be careful.”

“Okay.  I’ll be careful.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Dean vowed.

“Alright, now that we have that out of the way, let’s see what you found.  No matter what your friend’s story is, it doesn’t hurt to get a witch off the streets.  Maybe we can hunt ‘er down before you’ve gotta get back home.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to smile.  He pulled the leather journal out of his backpack and handed it to Bobby, being careful to keep his notes about Castiel in his pocket.  As the weight of the book left his hands, a little of the weight of the world went with it.

 

Dean stumbled downstairs the next morning, hair plastered to the side of his face where he fell asleep on a book and dark circles smudged under his eyes.  He moved across the kitchen to the coffee maker, which was half full and still warm, so quickly that he didn’t even see Bobby sitting at the kitchen table scribbling notes.

“Morning,” Bobby said when Dean had taken a sip of his coffee and spat it all over himself in surprise.

“Jesus, Bobby.  Where’d you come from?”

“I’ve been here the whole time, idjit.  Did you seriously not see me sitting here?”

Dean shook his head, and Bobby returned his attention to the sheets of paper strewn haphazardly across the table.

“Now, this witch must’ve been powerful to make a curse this strong and longlasting, but it’s going to be pretty hard to track down the exact witch who did this.  Especially since we don’t know exactly when your friend was cursed.  Our best bet is probably going to be figuring out what the curse was and reversing it ourselves.”

Dean’s eyes widened.  “Can we do that?  Wouldn’t we become witches then?

“It’s not that simple,” Bobby said with a yawn.  “We would be doing witchcraft, but we’re not dedicating ourselves to it like a witch does.”

Dean’s brow furrowed.  “How do we figure out exactly what curse the witch used?”

“Well, one way is to research your friend…”

Bobby trailed off, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes.  

“I’m not telling you his name.”

Bobby sighed and gestured at the chair across from him.  Despite his lack of sleep, he could see where this conversation was going, but he hesitantly sat down, keeping his coffee cup in his hand should the need arise for him to get up quickly.

“Look, boy, if I’m going to help your friend, you have to trust me.”

“You think he’s a monster.”

“I don’t know what to think without his name.”

Dean put the mug down and rubbed a hand over his face.  “Bobby, I spent all day yesterday researching him with his name, and it doesn’t matter.  The stuff I found is nonsense.”

“What do you mean ‘nonsense’?”

“It can’t be true.”

“What makes you say that?”

Dean fell back into a guarded silence.

“Dean, if you don’t tell me what you know, then I can’t help you.  I stayed up all last night researching possible curses it could be based on what you’ve told me, but that only narrows it down to about twenty.  I can’t do anything else until I have some idea what kind of creature your friend is.  And, it’s not like if I use the wrong curse it just doesn’t work; we’re talking about some really powerful stuff here, and if we use the wrong one, we could really hurt him.”

Dean weighed his choices.  He could tell Bobby what he’d learned about Cas.  He trusted Bobby, but he couldn’t be certain that Bobby would be receptive of the idea that his friend was an angel and wouldn’t jump to the conclusion that he was dangerous.  On the other hand, Cas had been trapped there for who knows how long, and the thought of leaving him there any longer pained Dean.

“Dean,” Bobby said, interrupting his thoughts.  “If I wanted to hurt your friend, I wouldn’t have gone through all this effort.  You obviously care a great deal about him, and I’ll be honest, I am worried that he’s not telling you everything, but I want to protect you, and it seems like the best way to do that right now is to get him out of your room.  We’re working toward the same goal here.”

“What happens after he’s out?” Dean challenged.  “Will we still have the same goal then?”

“My goal is always your safety,” Bobby said without hesitation.  “And the best way for me to figure out who and what your friend is, is to get him out.  If once he’s out, he’s not who he said he is, then we’ll have bigger problems.  Either way, the best step now is for us to stop fighting each other and start working together.”

After a long moment of sullen consideration, Dean acquiesced.

“Alright,” he breathed.  “I’ll tell you what I found out at the library.  But that’s it.”

Bobby nodded.  “Alright.  What is he then?”

Dean took a deep breath and let the word escape as he exhaled.  “An angel.”

Bobby laughed.  “That’s a good one.  What is he, seriously?”

“I’m not kidding.”

Bobby’s smile slid off his face, and the wrinkles around his eyes seemed more pronounced.  “Dean, there’s no such thing as angels.”

“Apparently there are.”

“Is it possible he just—”

“He wasn’t lying Bobby.”

“Dean,” Bobby said, his patient tone fading to exasperation.  “There’s no way you could know that!”

“Why would he lie to me?”

“Because names have power, and if you knew its name you could kill it.  Besides, monsters don’t need a reason to lie to people.  You’re not thinking straight, boy.”

“So you’re telling me that you have no problem believing in witches, monsters, ghosts, and God knows what else, but you don’t believe there’s some kind of good force out there?”

“I do believe there’s a good force out there.  Us.”

Dean sank lower and ran a hand through his hair.  “I’m not telling you his name, Bobby.”

“If I don’t know his name, we’re going in there blind.  You could get both of us killed.”

“Then I’ll go in alone,” Dean said evenly.  “I trust him, but if you don’t, I understand.”

Bobby rested his head in his hands.  “Dean, I’m not going to let you undo dark magic by yourself with a monster who may or may not be lying to you.”

“Then I’ll tell you the rest of what I found, but you’re going to have to live without knowing his name.  He trusted me with it, and I’m not going to give it away without his permission.”

“If I don’t help you, are you just going to go and do it anyway?”

Dean smiled tiredly.

Bobby groaned.  “Fine.  Tell me about your angel friend, just know what’s at stake here, Dean.  If this goes wrong, there’s a very good chance we won’t walk away from this.  Do you trust him enough to put our lives on the line for him?”

Dean met Bobby’s gaze with a look so confident and honest that it almost stung.  “Yes.  I do.”

“Alright, then,” Bobby said.  “Tell me what you’ve got.”

And Dean did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part will probably be up before Christmas and definitely by the second week of January.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought with kudos and comments, either here or at [my tumblr](http://franticallyyodeling.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may have lied earlier when I said this was going to be three parts. I swear, I was going to stop here, but this chapter was already a lot longer than I'd planned, and I didn't want to drag it out further, so you guys get an epilogue!
> 
> I'm also finishing this story at an hour so late (early?) that I didn't even know it existed so please let me know if you find any typos, misused words, etc. so I can fix it. 
> 
> There are some tags that I've included in the notes at the end of this chapter to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Happy New Year, everyone!

“Mom, Uncle Bobby’s going to drive me back a day early.  Is it okay if he spends the night?  Thanks, Mom, you’re the best.  Love you too.  Bye.”

Bobby tossed his duffel in the back of the Impala and climbed into the passenger seat.  “Mary said it was alright?”

“Of course she did, Bobby.  You’re family.”

Bobby looked away, the ease and sincerity of that statement forming a lump in his throat which was becoming more difficult to swallow by the second.

“If we’re gonna make it to Lawrence before sundown, we better get going.”

Dean tossed his bag in the back as well and settled into the familiar worn seat.

“I’m surprised John let you take his baby by yourself,” Bobby said, when he recovered his composure.

Dean shrugged.  “He got a car pretty cheap from a client at the shop, so he pretty much lets me take this whenever.  Besides, if he lets me drive, he doesn’t have to drop me off, then turn around and drive home.”

“That’s true, but he could’ve given you the new car he got and kept this one.  He’s always loved this car, and he’s done a lot of work on it over the years.”

“I don’t know, Bobby.  I helped him do a lot of work on it, or maybe the other one isn’t ready to go this far yet.”

“I’m just saying that maybe you should cut him some slack.”

“Bobby, you of all people know why that is complete bull shit.”

“Dean, I know you and your dad haven’t always seen eye to eye—”

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

“—But he’s clearly trying to make an effort.  And it might be good for you to try and toss him a bone every once in awhile.”

“Why should I?  All he ever does is complain that I’m not doing this right or trying hard enough in school.  I can’t please the man, and I’m tired of beating myself up for not meeting his impossible standards.”

“Is it possible he just wants the best for you and wants you to have the best shot at getting it?”

“But he doesn’t pull this shit with Sam!  He’s never even suggested any other career for me besides taking over the shop or joining the marines.  The fucking marines, Bobby.  But with Sam, it’s all about getting him into Stanford so he can go to law school and be this big shot.”

“Dean,” Bobby said slowly.  “You know I understand your situation, and that I’m obviously on your side, but is it possible that John’s pushing Sam to go to college and be a lawyer because that’s what he’s shown an interest in?”

“What’s your point?”

“Maybe by trying to get you to join the marines or take over the shop John’s trying to help you with what he thinks are your interests.”

Dean scoffed.  “Goes to show how well he knows me.”

At this, Bobby leaned back a bit in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.  “If you don’t want to take over the shop, what do you want to do?”

Dean’s grip on the steering wheel loosened just slightly and his shoulders slumped.  “I don’t know, but I know I can’t stay there.  I just can’t.”

Bobby nodded, and they fell silent, neither really sure what to say and both wishing they could offer the other more than concerned glances and the uncomfortable weight of unspoken words.

  


They pulled into the familiar driveway right as the Winchesters were sitting down to dinner.  Mary enveloped Dean, then Bobby, in a hug and ushered them inside, barely giving them time to put down their bags before pushing them into the dining room.

“You boys are here just in time.  John made chicken and mashed potatoes, so please help yourselves.  How was the drive?”

Dean cleared his throat and shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth when Mary looked at him.  Bobby shot him a glance, but quickly smiled and explained that it was uneventful.

John and Mary asked Dean about the trip, thanking Bobby profusely for letting Dean stay with him, to which Bobby replied, “It’s no problem at all.  Dean’s a good kid.”

Dean blushed and found a sudden interest in his napkin.  Mary beamed.

“Did you bring any leftovers?” she asked.  “Like peach cobbler, or maybe an apple pie with those fresh apples?”

“‘Fraid not,” Bobby said.  “The boy and I had a pretty busy week.”

“Worked on some junkers?” John asked.

“Oh, lots,” Dean said.  “Rebuilt this one Honda from the inside out.  Runs great now.”

John grunted to signal both his approval and the fact that his involvement in that conversation had concluded.  For the first time that evening, Dean smiled as Bobby told his parents about the imaginary cars they had worked on.

Dinner ended more quickly than Dean was prepared for, and just an hour after they’d arrived, he and Bobby were in his room under the pretense of pictures from the cars Dean worked on at John’s shop.

“Have fun and holler if you need anything,” Mary said before disappearing down the stairs, leaving them alone.

“Alright, I have all the stuff in here,” Bobby said, patting his duffel.  “We just need to chat with your friend before we can start.”

“Okay,” Dean replied.  He forced himself to take a deep breath.  “Cas? Please come out.  This is Bobby, the one I told you about?  He’s kinda an expert in this sort of thing, and he’s here to help break your curse.”

Silence.

After a few minutes of anxious waiting, Dean turned to Bobby, “Maybe you should wait in the hall while I talk to him about this.”

Bobby frowned, but nodded and stepped into the hall with a muttered, “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

The second the door shut, Dean was on the floor, eyes wide and pleading.

“Cas, please?  I know you don’t talk to anyone else, but I’m begging you to give Bobby a chance.  He’s the only way we’ll ever be able to get you out.”

After so long a pause that Dean was beginning to think Castiel was never going to speak, a rumble came from under the bed, “Why should I trust him?”

“Because _I_ trust him.  Do trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’m asking you to trust me on this.  He’s a great guy, practically a father to me, and he knows what he’s talking about.  Besides, I would never let someone in here who would hurt you.   _Never_.”

Castiel could see the hopeful face of the young boy trying to peer at him in the dim light of the room.  His green eyes were starting to glisten as the gravity of the situation weighed on him, and Castiel was reminded how profound his bond with this boy was.

“Alright,” Castiel acquiesced.  “I will speak to him.”

Dean broke into a grin.  “You won’t regret this, Cas.  We’re gonna set you free.”

As Dean turned to fetch Bobby, Castiel couldn’t help but think, _That’s exactly what I’m afraid of._

Dean held the door open and gestured for Bobby to come back in.  He patted Dean on the back once and shot him a concerned look, before slipping inside.

“So,” Bobby said.  “Do I just ask the room, or…?”

“Cas,” Dean said, nodding at Bobby.  “Bobby wants to ask you some questions.  You’ve gotta tell him the truth so we can help you.”

Silence.

“Cas,” Dean implored.  “Do you trust me?”

“What would you like to know?” Castiel asked, his voice shaking the window and stunning Bobby.  Dean nudged him and rolled his eyes.

“Um,” Bobby began before seeing Dean’s unimpressed expression and regaining some semblance of confidence.  “I want to—need to—know who trapped you, what cursed they used, and why.”

“Why they used that particular curse?” Cas asked, his tone challenging, “or why they cursed me at all?”

“Both.”

There was a pause for a long minute as Castiel considered the question.  Dean could barely stand still as he waited to hear the answer to the very question he’d been asking for as long as he could remember.

“It’s not a pleasant story,” Castiel said at last.  “Dean, you’re not going to enjoy it.  If you’d like to step out—”

“No!” Dean objected.  “If Bobby stays, I’m sure as hell not going anywhere.”

Castiel sighed.  “If I tell you this story, you have to promise not to interrupt or act rashly.”

Bobby looked over at Dean, who leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, but the tense set to his jaw ruining the illusion of nonchalance.

“Dean, that’s reasonable,” Bobby said gently.  “We’re going to help your friend, but that’s all I can promise right now.  You have to swear you’re not going to do anything dumb, or you can’t stay while I’m doing this.”

“Bobby—”

“Promise,” Castiel commanded.  “Or I will say nothing, and I will stay here forever.”

Dean chewed on his lip before finally muttering, “Fine.”

“Say it,” Castiel said with the imploring tone of a parent finally getting a child into bed.

“I promise not to interrupt or do anything stupid.”

“Alright,” Castiel acquiesced.  “I have never told anyone this story, so please bear with me.  There are parts of this that are...difficult, but I will be as forthcoming as memory permits.”

Dean and Bobby said nothing, the former trying to keep his breathing even and the latter itching to reach for the gun he’d slipped in the waistband of his jeans.

Castiel cleared his throat and felt the pit in his stomach widen as he finally gave it the attention it had been demanding for so many years.

 

_Many years ago, before Man was, when there were only faithful angels and God.  I was a part of a family, if you will, that was very powerful and very closely knit.  For all of time, we had our father to ourselves.  While He was very busy planning creation, He always made sure to make time to tend to his children.  In those days, there was not a single angel who had not met God and felt his love like an embrace._

_At that time, I was one of God’s favorites.  I don’t mean this as arrogance; it is simply the truth.  There were four of us: Michael, Lucifer, Gabriel, and me.  My oldest brothers, Michael and Lucifer, were his favorites because they were amazing warriors.  They rode on chariots of fire and pledged to battle any enemy that God wished.  He loved them for their undying loyalty and unquestioning faith, even though He had not yet taught them about evil, they were willing to fight to the death to stop it._

_Gabriel was...different.  God used to call Gabriel forth when he was creating.  No angel other than Gabriel was ever permitted to be a part of this sacred process.  It is said that Gabriel suggested that Man have no sharp claws, wicked speed, or mighty strength.  He suggested that Man harness fire instead, as it can bring warmth and comfort as well as destruction and death.  I suspect he didn’t realize then how appropriate it was._

_God adored Gabriel and it is said that it was Gabriel who inspired Him to give Man free will, though no one can ever say for certain._

_Me, well, I all of those things, though to a lesser degree.  I was a good warrior, and would have died for my father without a thought, but I lacked the keen senses my older brothers had, and while I was good with a sword, I never could beat them in a fight.  I was like Gabriel in the sense that I asked questions.  I liked the idea of free will, even if I didn’t quite understand it.  This, I suspect, was less of an inherent trait and more one acquired from centuries of worshiping Gabriel the way people worship the sun.  Now, after much time for reflection, I have to believe that my proximity to God was a product of my relationship with Gabriel.  Lucifer and Michael may have taught me to fight, but it was Gabriel who taught me to live, and for that, I will be forever grateful._

_When God was finished creating, He gathered all the angels and showed them what he had done.  He told us about the light, the dark, the water, the land, the plants that would take root in the earth but reach for the heavens, and the animals that would roam.  He presented them to us, eagerly seeking our praise.  We didn’t understand really, all we knew were angels and God, but we wanted to because He wanted us to, so we all told him how amazing they were._

_And He saved the best for last._

_“This is Man,” he told us.  “I have made him in my likeness.  He will rule over Earth and all the life on it.  He is special because I have given him the right to choose.  You are to protect him, love him, and worship him despite his faults, for he is my greatest creation.”_

_That one struck many of us for, until then, we had been His greatest creation, but still, we loved Him, so we bowed and swore to hold Man above all else._

_All except one._

_Lucifer refused to bow down to Man because he saw their flaws.  He told God that they would betray Him and each other._

_So God cast him down.  There was dissent for a while, but nothing ever came of it because as much as we loved Lucifer, we loved God more, and he told us to love Man most of all, so we did._

_But losing his eldest son took a toll.  God finished creating and guiding Man as best he could, then he left.  He reminded us of our oath, being careful to instruct us not to interfere too much, then he disappeared.  We haven’t seen him since.  Most of the angels now haven’t ever felt the touch of God.  Some don’t even believe He ever existed._

_For years, I was Gabriel’s second-in-command.  He and Michael worked in tandem to try and keep Heaven running, but it was clear early on that Michael was also scarred by the loss of Lucifer.  While God was deeply saddened by his absence, Michael was furious.  He couldn’t understand how his brother could so openly defy a direct command, and he vowed one day to make Lucifer suffer for his sin._

_While Michael was loyal to the letter of God’s word, he never did understand what “free will” meant.  He knew he had to protect man, and he believed the best way to do that was to keep them subservient.  If they had predestined paths from which they could not stray, there was no room for error, he argued, and no room for danger._

_Gabriel tried to tell him that he misunderstood God, that we weren’t meant to be involved unless absolutely necessary, and that Man’s room for fault was what made him, well, human._

_Eventually, Gabriel and Michael could no longer reconcile their differences, and it was clear that there was going to be a war.  Many angels agonized as their leaders and brothers split apart, carving a rift down the middle of Heaven that each angel was forced to cross.  Gabriel promised a world where angels had the same freedom of choice afforded to Man.  Michael promised a world where angels reigned supreme as the ultimate way of fulfilling their duty.  He never did see that his methods were just like those of the fallen brother he despised._

_Without the word of God to reassure the angels of their mission, many of whom had only heard it second or third hand, most joined Michael.  Gabriel fought long and hard, but Michael had the power of numbers and had always been a more skilled warrior.  I was there the day we lost.  Gabriel never went into battle without first asking me if I’d like to escape to Earth and live among men, but I always refused.  My world didn’t exist without Gabriel, after all._

_I watched that day when Michael held a sword to his neck and spat in his face.  I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it made fire burn in Gabriel’s eyes.  I stood on the battlefield, the blood soaked grass sinking, as though pulling me down to Earth.  I thought I was going to see my brother behead my brother, but in the last moment, Michael turned away, and when I blinked, Gabriel was gone.  I can’t be certain, but I thought I saw a shimmer in Michael’s eye._

_Before that day, I had never seen an angel cry, but there were many tears that night.   Upon Gabriel’s disappearance, the few of us who remained were quickly overtaken by Michael’s forces, and within the hour, the battle was lost.  Heaven was littered with bodies, the ground scorched with the outline of wings stark against the red._

_With Gabriel gone, I was taken to “negotiate” our surrender with Michael.  Every remaining angel who had fought for us was imprisoned, but I was to be executed._

_Or so I thought._

_Michael took me to his tent in chains.  He had always seemed so much larger than I, but that day, he seemed small with his shoulders hunched forward and shadows in his features I had never seen before._

_“Castiel,” he whispered.  “How could you?”_

_We hadn’t spoken a word since the fighting had begun, and I didn’t have an answer for him.  Gabriel was gone, I presumed him to be dead, and I could barely speak, much less stand the disappointment and bitter sadness that emanated off of my older brother and hero._

_“They deserve free will,” I said at last.  “Father says so, and I vowed to uphold it.”_

_“We vowed to protect them,” Michael said, standing and turning to look out onto the field outside.  “So many died to protect what exactly, Castiel?  Freedom?  What good is freedom if one can’t live to enjoy it?”_

_“What good is living if one isn’t free?”_

_Michael turned then.  “You’ve betrayed me, little brother.  I can never forgive that, and I will never forget.”_

_“I know.  I wouldn’t expect you to.”_

_“But we are the last,” he continued.  “And I can’t bring myself to shed any more blood tonight, so I will offer you a choice.  You can pledge your allegiance to the new order and swear to protect Man in the way God intended, or you can fall.”_

_He looked at me, his eyes tired but his lips a hard line.  It was clear that he didn’t really see it as a choice at all._

_“I will fall,” I said without hesitation.  “And none of this is how Father intended.  Don’t desecrate His memory in His name.”_

_I thought then he would send me to Hell with Lucifer.  I had heard stories and was very afraid, but he sent me instead to Earth.  Later I learned that only God has the power to trap angels in that realm._

_When I awoke here, I was alone for the first time in eternity.  I still felt my grace burning, but it was muted, so I began to walk, afraid that flying would expose me, exhaust me, or both._

_Soon, I settled into the ways of Man.  I lived among you for many years, though never quite as one of you.  I never ate, never slept, and never loved.  My life was for the most part nomadic, roaming the Earth in search of other exiled angels and forcing myself to continue to live under the delusion that once I found one we could find a way to return to Heaven together._

_The longer I was here, the more I forgot about Gabriel and the immense love I had for Man.  The longer I was here, the more I resented Man.  I couldn’t see what was worth saving, what I had lost everything for.  Man seemed fragile, prone to bringing about his own destruction, and, worst of all, selfish.  Many had forgotten God, just as the angels had, but they had many more bloody wars than there were in Heaven, and many more lives were taken than I could have ever imagined.  It was brutal and foul.  I hated it._

_So I avoided it for centuries, only stopping in towns where I hoped an angel might reside.  In those days, I even let monsters live.  I stopped hating evil because it preyed on Man, and I couldn’t find it in myself anymore to save them._

_Even now, it pains me to think of the lives I could have saved.  It is one of the many things which I can never forget and which will weigh on me forever._

_I might have never returned to Man if he hadn’t come and found me.  He was one of the earliest warriors of your kind, the sort that protect people from the supernatural.  The sort like you.  Man never quite believed in angels, and this one was certainly no exception.  He thought I was a monster, and he tried to kill me.  He shot an arrow into my heart with speed and precision I hadn’t seen since Michael.  When I didn’t react, he shot another, this one through my eye.  He shot them all, each with a different precious metal in the tip, until he had none left._

_It wasn’t until then that I allowed myself a smile.  It was a vicious smile, and he cowered.  Despite his obvious fear, he threw his bow aside and drew a sword with a trembling hand._

_“What are you?” he demanded._

_“I’m the one who’s going to kill you,” I told him.  This night is another one that will forever shame me.  I wanted nothing more than to strip the skin off that man piece by piece.  I wanted nothing more than to hear his screams echo in the still night air.  I wanted nothing more than to inflict the suffering I had been enduring on someone else ten fold._

_“No,” he insisted, even as I stepped closer, “What are you?”_

_“I’m an angel,” I told him, my grin widening until I suspect it looked more like a grimace._

_“No you’re not,” he said.  “Angels don’t exist.”_

_“Oh?  Why not?  You hunt devils and monsters, why can’t there be angels?”_

_“Because angels wouldn’t sit by and watch this slaughter.” He held his sword high as I approached, and it shook as violently as his voice._

_I practically sneered.  “Oh, but they would.  They would and they have.  There is a God, and there are angels, and they have left you to rot on this hunk of rock and dirt.  They have left you to fester and kill each other in filth and fear.”_

_“No!” he screamed.  “There can’t be!  There can’t be!”_

_He collapsed then, his sword still clasped tightly in his hand, but tears began streaming down his face.  It startled me.  I hadn’t seen so profound an expression of grief since the day we lost the war.  In his state of vulnerability, I stopped to really look at him for the first time.  He had a mop of dark hair and a sharp jaw but a softness around the eyes that spoke of hope._

_I didn’t have much compassion left, but what I had, I gave to this man.  I saw jagged scars across his features and from the crooked way he held himself, many injuries which he had never given the proper time to heal.  I figured that there would be another man who would provoke me.  One who deserved his fate._

_I stepped closer to him, and he curled more into himself, shielding himself from the wrath I had promised, but instead, I reached out and placed two fingers to his forehead.  I poured my grace into that man, allowing the knotted and gnarled flesh to untangle and eased the pain that plagued this young man.  He couldn’t have been more than twenty, but he carried the physical burden of a man four times his senior._

_When I had finished, I released him and turned away.  I was very weak then and could barely walk, much less fly, but before I could take two steps, the man shouted, “What did you do to me?”_

_I looked over my shoulder, startled.  “I healed you.”_

_“But I thought—”_

_“Not all of us are monsters,” I said so softly that at first I didn’t think he could hear me._

_“Are there...are you really an angel?”_

_“Today I am,” I said when I managed to find the words._

_He pulled himself to his feet, his sword forgotten in the dirt. “Thank you.”_

_That man’s name was Elijah.  I learned he had a small child, a daughter.  As the story goes, her mother was killed by a wraith, so he searched for that very beast, killing everything else he could find along the way.  Together, we tracked down the monster that took her, and then Elijah stopped hunting to keep his little girl safe._

_And the three of them found a home together._

_When he had many years, and I began to worry for his health, I saved my strength so I could retrieve an herb I knew could cure his malady.  He wouldn’t let me heal him anymore, though I tried._

_“You’ve done so much already, Castiel,” he told me.  “I can’t take anymore from you.  Just stay here with me.  I’m so cold.  Just keep me warm, Castiel.”_

_So I did, and in the night, in the few hours when he endured a fitful sleep, I would give him little bits of grace, small enough that he wouldn’t notice, but not nearly enough to save his life._

_Just as I was about to slip out, I heard the sound of something rustling behind me, and I whipped around to see the shadow of a man in our little home._

_“Hello, Castiel,” he said._

_Though he made no effort to move into the light, I recognized him immediately._

_“Gabriel?” I hissed.  “I cannot be…”_

_“It is, little brother.  It’s me.”_ _  
_

_I_ _saw that it was really him, so I moved to embrace him._

_“We thought Michael had killed you,” I said as I cried into his shoulder.  The second time I had ever cried._

_“I thought the same about you, but it seems our brother has a softer heart than he would lead us to believe.”_

_I led him outside, casting worried glances at Elijah as he twisted and shivered, though he was beneath many blankets._

_“He doesn’t have very much time left, does he?” Gabriel asked gently as we walked out into the open._

_“No,” I murmured.  “I’m afraid he does not.”_

_“Castiel,” he said, resting a hand on my shoulder and forcing me to meet his gaze.  “I’ve come here to warn you.  Michael knows about you and this human.”_

_I chuckled bitterly.  “So he’s been checking in on me all this time?  How kind of him.”_

_“Castiel,” Gabriel implored.  “I know how hard this must be to hear, but you have to listen.  He knows about you and this man, and he won’t let it stand.  Stories about you are spreading.  Stories about how you heal people and teach them remedies beyond their understanding.  If you continue, he won’t be able to ignore you anymore, and he will kill you.”_

_I was taken aback.  “Why does he care?  I’m just one person, how much assistance can I possibly be.”_

_“One angel.”_

_“What?”_

_Gabriel’s brow furrowed, the same way it did when I used to ask questions he knew he couldn’t answer.  “You said ‘one person’.  You’re an angel, Castiel.”_

_I held my head high but said not a word.  I had trapped myself._

_“This is exactly the problem, Castiel,” he continued.  “You’ve forgotten who you are in all the time you’ve spent with Man.”_

_“It is not my fault that I cannot be with other angels.”_

_“I know, little brother.  Believe me, I know, but I can’t sit back and watch you die.  That man in there, he has lived a very long and fulfilling life.  You have to let him go, and you have to stay hidden.”_

_“How could you possibly know about his life?” I hissed._

_Gabriel softened then.  A small tired smile played at the corner of his lips.  “Did you think I would ever leave you alone and unprotected?  Brother, I have been watching you since the moment you fell, always ready to step in if you needed me.”_

_“But then you’d expose yourself.”_

_Gabriel just smiled a little more._

_I looked over my shoulder and then back to Gabriel._

_“Come with me, Castiel,” he begged me.  “Please don’t make me leave you here to die.”_

_My eyes stung.  “I can’t leave him.  I love him, Gabriel.”_

_Gabriel stared at the little structure behind me and at the frail old man who slept inside it._

_“You will die,” he said.  “Michael knows you’re here, and he won’t let you continue at this rate, certainly not with a human lover.”_ _  
_

_“Then that’s how I will end,” I said.  “There are much worse ways.”_

_Gabriel nodded.  “Castiel, I am proud to call you my brother.”_

_He pulled me into an embrace, and I wrapped my arms around him, unwilling to let him go after all those years thinking he was gone forever, but he disappeared before I could even say goodbye._

_I returned home that night and held Elijah in my arms.  He shook as much as he had the day I’d met him many decades before, then he was still.  I laid him gently down on the cot and covered him with a blanket, but not before placing one last kiss on his forehead._

_Two angels came that morning, and I returned to heaven for the first time in centuries.  They dragged me to the room I recognized from my youth as the creation room, where Michael sat waiting patiently._

_“Castiel!” he cried when I came in.  “It's been a long time, brother.”_

_I held my tongue, not even allowing the chains around my wrists and ankles to rattle._

_“I just wish we could be reunited under better circumstances, but alas, you’ve made your choices and left me with only one.”_

_I met his eyes and saw the fire from all those years ago still burning there, still fueling his anger and bloodthirst._

_“Castiel, I had planned to kill you today.  I was going to drag you out there in front of all your brothers and sisters and slit your throat to make an example of you.  I was going to let your grace bleed out first, then decapitate you, so that no other angels would lose sight of our mission, but I think that’s what you want.  You’re tired, Castiel, that much is clear.  You’ve lost something, haven’t you?  That scum in that little shack where we found you?”_

_I tried to hold his gaze, for Elijah I tried, but I tore away when my eyes began to sting._

_“Castiel!” he hissed, disgusted.  “Did you care for that primate?”_

_My hands began to shake._

_“Oh, Castiel,” Michael snarled.  “This is worse than I could have ever imagined.  Oh no, we cannot execute you, not now.  You’ll become a martyr with that look in your eyes.  No, no.  I have a much better idea.”_

_So he sent me back down to Earth.  He sent the witch then, who cursed me to forever follow Elijah’s bloodline.  It was a powerful curse, spoken in Enochian and mixed with ancient ingredients.  I would forever follow Elijah’s descendants, but I would become one of the things they hunted, and I could never assist, or even leave their abode._

_After the curse had been finished, he came down from Heaven himself to make sure it was carried out properly.  Just before he left, he told me, “Castiel, you’re the reason Father hasn’t returned to us.  He can’t bear the shame you’ve caused him.  He can’t bear the disappointment.”_

_He spat in my face and left me there, twisted and evil, writhing in agony as I watched Elijah’s descendants suffer, unable to help, unable to reveal myself without showing them what I’d become._

 

When Castiel finished speaking, Dean struggled to swallow the lump in his throat, and Bobby was at a loss.  

“Cas…” Dean started.

“Forgive me,” Castiel said softly.

Dean threw himself onto the floor, reaching toward the darkness under the bed, but hesitant.

“Cas?”

“I’m hideous, Dean,” he said.  “I’m a monster.  Are you sure you want to release me into the world?  What if you don’t like what you see?”

“You’re not a monster, Cas,” Dean replied, tears racing down his cheeks.  “You’re an angel, and no witch or curse could ever change that.”

Bobby cleared his throat.

“That’s going to be difficult to undo,” he began.  “But I think I can do it.  I’m not sure I can reverse all the effects of this curse, so let’s just hope it breaks you out, and then we can go from there.”

Castiel thanked him, but Dean didn’t hear a word he said.  He just extended his fingers a little farther.

“I love you, Cas,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Dean.”

Bobby drew sigils on the floor with a jar of lamb’s blood and murmured ancient words that hadn’t been spoken in centuries.  As he mixed the ingredients into the bowl in the center of the candles, the room started to shake again.

From somewhere down the hall, Dean heard his mother shout, “Earthquake!” and his father retort “Tornado!” then both of them almost simultaneously call for their children.

“Hurry, Bobby.”

Bobby continued chanting, and the sigils glowed with an unnaturally white light, so bright that Dean and Bobby had to shield their eyes.

There was a pounding on the door, then a frantic John shouting, “Dean!  Bobby!”

“Bobby,” Dean said urgently.

Bobby threw a large black feather into the mix.  When it reached the bowl, there was a loud _crack_ and a flash of white light that filled the entire room, then everything stilled.

John pounded on the door.  “I swear to God, Dean, if you don’t open this door right now I’m going to kick it in.”

Bobby fell to the floor, Dean pulled himself to his feet and rushed to Bobby’s side.

He shook him violently.  “Bobby!”

There was the loud snapping of splintered wood and a crash as the broken door hit the wall and John burst in.

“Dean! Thank God you’re—what’s wrong with Bobby?  Dean, what happened?”

Bobby’s eyes fluttered open, and Dean threw his arms around him, crying in relief as Bobby murmured, “You idjit”  and color returned to his cheeks.

Mary rushed in with Sam on her heels as they took in the scene.

“What in the name of God were you two doing in here?” Mary demanded.

Dean looked at Bobby who shrugged as if to say “I have no idea how to explain this all away.  They’re your parents.”

“Bobby’s teaching me magic tricks,” Dean ventured.

Mary’s eyes widened and John’s brow furrowed in disbelief.

“You expect us to believe,” he said slowly, “that there’s blood on the floor in some old language and black candles in a pentagram at the same time there was an earthquake because Bobby is teach you magic tricks?”

Mary and John looked at him expectantly.

“Yes,” Dean said with his attempt at a reassuring smile.

“You’re grounded,” John said.

“And you,” Mary said turning to Bobby.  “You better have a damn good explanation for all this, or you’re never coming within fifty miles of my sons again.”

“I think we have to tell them the truth,” Bobby said so quietly that only Dean could hear.

“No!”

“No what?” John snapped.  “Someone tells needs to tell me what the fuck happened in here right now, or I swear to God—”

“There was a monster under my bed,” Dean announced with the same confidence with which he’d said it thirteen years ago, but this time, he said it matter of factly and with a hint of pride.  “But Bobby fixed it.”

“Bobby,” Mary warned.  “That is not what I meant by a good explanation.”

“He’s right,” Bobby said.  “Cas, now would be a good time to come out and make us look less like crazy people.”

For a long moment, everyone stood there frozen, waiting for this mysterious Cas to show himself.  Dean turned toward his bed, his heart pounding in his chest like he’d just run a marathon.

The bed shook, and from the crack between the bed and the floor that had always seemed just a little too dark, a shadow emerged.  At first, it was just a hand: a grey hand, with long black claws that scratched the floor as it extended, revealing an arm scarred with red marks.  Another arm came out from under the bed, and Castiel dug his claws into the floor to pull himself out.  He crawled out into the dead silent room as everyone watched.  His head was covered in hair so dark it was almost pitch, but everyone gasped when they saw his back.  Every inch of the skin from his shoulders down was covered with burns in the shape of feathers that rippled and seemed to catch the light as he moved.  Once he pulled his legs out, he stood.  He was just about Dean’s height, maybe an inch shorter, and his whole body was the same grey of a cloud threatening to rain, but his eyes were blue, no pupil, no white, nothing but clear almost transparent blue.  His lips were parted slightly to reveal sharp teeth, closer to a shark’s than a wolf’s.  Perhaps most startling of all, across his chest the word “Protector” was carved and still dripping fresh blood.

He felt their horror and looked down at the lamb’s blood in which he stood.  “I am Castiel,” he said and forced himself to look every single person in the eye.

Castiel reached Dean last.  He felt blood drip onto the floor where his claws dug into his hand as he clenched his fist.

“Do  I frighten you?” he asked Dean.  “Do you believe me now when I say I am a monster?”

Dean took a step closer and rested a hand on Castiel’s cheek.  Castiel leaned into the touch and shut his eyes.

“Do you believe me now when I say you’re not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some serious daddy issues (but NO ABUSE) and allusions to very brutal violence (war), but no graphic descriptions. It's pretty mild but most standards, but I wanted to be safe rather than sorry.
> 
> If I missed any tags, please please please let me know so I can add them.
> 
>  
> 
> [My tumblr](http://franticallyyodeling.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

“Dean, we’re just concerned for your safety—”

“You don’t have to be!” Dean said, exasperated.  “We’ve been through this.  Cas would never hurt me.”

“—and I know you’re not worried,” Mary continued, her blue eyes wide and voice unwavering.  “But all any of us know about him is what he’s told us.”

“So?”

“So, of course he’s going to tell you he’s harmless!” John blurted, earning a tired sigh from Mary.  “How are we supposed to trust his word when we don’t know anything else about it?”

“Him,” Dean corrected sharply.

“Excuse me?” John said.

“Cas is a _him_ not an _it_ ,” Dean hissed.  “You’re talking about him like he’s some stray dog I found one day.  He is my best friend, and I trust him.  Why can’t that be enough?”

“Dean—”

Before John could finish, Dean was up and out of his seat, heading for the door.

“Come back—”

“Let him go,” Mary said, just loud enough for Dean to hear as the door swung shut.

Dean treaded across the lawn, soaking his shoes with the early morning dew.

“Cas!” he called from under his window.  “Cas, c’mon.  We’re getting out of here.”

“Where are we going?” a voice asked from behind Dean.

“Jesus, Cas, you scared me.  How’d you get down so fast?”

“Ang—I travel…differently,” he explained, his frown deepening as the correction.  “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here.”

Dean began to walk, but paused when he realized that Cas was a little conspicuous wearing just a pair of Dean’s sweatpants, his bloodied back glistening in the streetlights.

“Here,” he said, tugging off his hoodie and shoving it into Castiel’s startled arms.  “Put this on.”

After Cas reluctantly pulled it over his head, wincing when it settled on his shoulders, Dean gently tugged the hood up, letting his fingers hover just a second too long on Castiel’s cheek.

“There.  You’ll blend right in.”  He paused for a moment, seeing the pained expression on Castiel’s face.  “Does it hurt?”

“Just a little.  I’m not accustomed to garments in this form, but I will be fine.”

Dean was unconvinced, but also fully aware that they didn’t really have a better choice.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, breaking the silence as they continued walking once more.  

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.  I should’ve known they would react like this.”

“I heard the arguing.  I don’t want to create any divides in your family.” Cas’s eyebrows drew together, and his mouth became a thin line.

“Oh, Cas, don’t worry about it.  You’re not creating any new divides.”

Cas nodded but said nothing.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, taking in Cas for the first time in a few hours.  “How do you feel?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cas answered, echoing Dean’s words with a small smile.  “I’ve fared much worse.”

“That’s not exactly comforting, Cas,” Dean sighed.

Castiel didn’t have a response to that, but Dean didn’t seem to notice.  He practically collapsed onto a bench at the park a mile or so from the Winchester house and rested his head in his hands.

“What are we going to do, Cas?”

Castiel reached out to rest a hand on Dean’s shoulder, to comfort and console, but he hesitated.  The boy in front of him looked so frail in the early morning light.  He worried if he pressed too hard or spoke too roughly, Dean might just crumble away to nothing.  With the delicate precision a painter might use to add the final stroke, Castiel touched Dean’s shoulder, careful to extend his claws away.

Dean said nothing, just wrapped his arms around Castiel’s neck and soaked his shoulder.  Castiel remembered that night not so long ago when he’d longed for the chance to hold Dean, to help him, to make him feel safe.  As softly as he could manage, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean, pulling him closer, and choking back a tear of his own as he remembered the last time he’d held someone like this.  

“I’m here,” Cas whispered.  “I’m here.”

 

With no money and nowhere to go, Castiel waited until Dean had cried himself dry before broaching the topic of returning home.

“I don’t want to go back there,” Dean insisted.  “He refuses to even try and understand me and this, and I’m tired of fighting an uphill battle.”

Castiel remembered Dean standing up on shaking legs when the smoke had dissipated, and John rushing into the room to pull Dean into an embrace.  Castiel had watched as Dean’s shoulders tensed, then relaxed into the touch, eventually wrapping his arms around his father and letting his head rest on his shoulder.

“Is it possible,” he began slowly, “that he could learn to understand given time?”

Dean scoffed.  “It’s been seventeen years, do you really think he’s going to change now?”

“Things are different now,” Castiel pointed out gently.  “You’re nearly an adult, and now if he doesn’t earn your trust, he could lose you forever.  Do you really think that is a chance he’s willing to take?”

Dean leaned back, his mind working through the options and the possibilities.

“At the very least,” Castiel prompted, “You could go back for the night and leave if you still want to in the morning.”

“Fine,” Dean acquiesced as the sun finally released its hold on the horizon to rest in the sky.  “But only if you’re coming.”

“Dean…”

“Cas,” Dean said quietly, “I don’t remember how to fall asleep without you.”

Castiel stared at Dean intently, taking in the pleading look in his eyes and the hard set of his jaw.

“Alright,” Castiel agreed.  “Just for tonight.  Tomorrow we’ll discuss a new arrangement.”

For the first time that night, Dean smiled.  Castiel pulled himself up, bare feet settling on the warm pavement.  Dean held out his hand, and Castiel took it gratefully, as they began the walk back home.

 

Once Dean was asleep, Castiel untangled himself and padded across the room.  He reached for the knob, already wondering if he could slip past the sleeping Winchesters as seamlessly as he’d slipped in, but he pulled his hand back at the last moment.  He’d promised himself he wouldn’t look back, but he couldn’t resist.  Dean laid on the edge of the bed, still curled in on himself and shivering slightly.  Castiel treaded back to the side of the bed, unfolding one of the spare blankets and draping it over him.  Just before the blanket settled into place, Castiel noticed the bloodstains on the back of Dean's shirt, a little smudged, but still clearly spelling “protector.”  Castiel glanced down at his chest and tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat to no avail.

“Why do I feel like we’ve been here before?”

Castiel whipped around, muscles tense and ready to pounce on the source of the noise.

“Whoa there,” Gabriel said, stepping in front of the window and peeking out from the curtain.  “No reason to make a commotion.  People are trying to sleep.”

“Gabriel?  What are you doing here?”

Gabriel dropped the fabric, letting it swing back into place.  “I heard you got out and thought I’d drop in on my little bro.”

Castiel felt his claws tear at the skin on his palm and forced his hands to relax.  “How thoughtful.”

“I thought so,” Gabriel murmured, stepping toward Castiel with his forehead wrinkled in concern as he took in Castiel’s form.  “What did he do to you, little brother?”

“You’ve been gone a long time, Gabriel,” he replied, glancing down when Dean shifted.  “Many things have changed.”

Gabriel’s eyes darted between Castiel and Dean with the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Really?  Seems like nothing’s changed at all.”

“I’m not making the same mistakes this time,” Cas said, forcing himself to meet Gabriel’s gaze.

“So all those gooey words about sticking around and keeping that boy warm were just an act then?” Gabriel asked with a low whistle.  “How’s he gonna feel when he wakes up and finds you gone?”

Castiel’s heart skipped a beat, and the weight in the pit of his stomach grew.  “He’s better off without me.  If Michael knew about him…”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Gabriel said.  “Factions have formed in Heaven, and Michael’s too busy trying to keep his own angels from killing each other to notice anything amiss here.  You could go unnoticed for months, maybe even years if you’re careful.”

“Or?” Castiel pressed, recognizing the mischievous glint in Gabriel’s eyes.

“Or we could use this chance to take him down once and for all.  His forces are scrambling to keep order.  We could seize control with one blow if we played it right.”  
Castiel imagined Heaven’s warm glow on his face, the sound of other angel’s calling his name, and an eternity with Gabriel just like in their youth, the very same dream that had gotten him through centuries of wandering on Earth.  He remembered how it had driven him, but now it just felt hollow.  

“Then what?”

“Then we could live like we always wanted,” Gabriel said with a grin.  “We could finally build Heaven like it was when Father was there.  Maybe He’d even come home.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed as he took in Gabriel’s hopeful expression.  “It’s not that simple.”

“I know we don’t have an army yet,” Gabriel continued.  “But with the two of us reunited, forces would flood in.  We’d be able to mount an attack—”

“Gabriel,” Castiel interrupted.  “Things can never go back to the way they were.  Heaven’s been broken for too long, and the cracks are too deep to mend.”

Gabriel’s face fell, and he released a sigh.  “I had a feeling you’d see it that way.”

Castiel nodded. 

Gabriel mustered a tired smile and gestured at the bed.  “Is he…?”

“One of Elijah’s?  Yes,” Castiel replied.  “I’m sorry I can’t be at your side for this battle.”

A long moment when the two said nothing, each taking in how much has changed and feeling more like strangers than brothers.

“I suppose this is it then,” Gabriel said.

“I suppose it is,” Castiel agreed solemnly.  “Gabriel?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.  For everything.”

Gabriel closed the distance between them and pulled Castiel into a tight hug.  

“He would be proud of you,” Gabriel whispered.

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat, and before he could say another word, Gabriel was gone.

 

Dean’s eyes blinked open and squinted as the afternoon light shone on his face through a crack between the curtains that he could’ve sworn he’d shut before he fell asleep.  With the daze of sleep still hovering over him, he pulled the blanket up higher and began to turn.

“Shhh,” Castiel murmured.  “Go back to sleep.”

“Cas?” Dean asked, unsure if he was still dreaming.

“I’m here,” he said softly.  “And I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and I don't have an exact posting schedule set up, so if you'd like to read the next two parts, please subscribe or bookmark.
> 
> Also, kudos and comments make my day, so if you had any thoughts, please please please let me know either here or at my [tumblr](http://franticallyyodeling.tumblr.com/)


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